A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing

by Deborah MacGillivray

  She swallowed hard, envisioning making love again in daylight, imagining it only too well: her moving over him in a pagan rhythm, watching his beautiful face as he came inside her. She wanted to reach up and touch his chiseled perfection, wanted to run her fingers over that sculpted chest and smooth her hands along the broad shoulders. He was an artist’s dream. Even so, the second she laid hands on him thoughts of everything else would go out the window. Her brothers might stomp through the house with a marching band playing John Philip Sousa and she’d fail to pay heed.

  “Raven!” one of the twins called from the bottom of the staircase.

  “Trevelyn, let me up,” she demanded with rising urgency.

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “You’re having doubts about us, and seizing on brothers interruptus as a means of getting some distance. I shan’t permit it.”

  “Let me up, please,” she repeated.

  “Not until I get a good morning kiss.”

  “Raven!”

  This time the call was from the small landing in the stairwell. Raven glanced to the door and then back up to the man looming over her. “Trev…”

  He shrugged. “I’m not budging until I get a proper kiss good morning. I refuse to be hidden away in the closet like some philandering milkman until your brothers depart, like last night wasn’t special.”

  She nibbled at the corner of her mouth. In her rush to head off Phelan and Skylar, she hadn’t meant to cast that sort of impression. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. It’s just the twins are…well…a little lacking in decorum at times.”

  “Apology accepted. Kiss me and then you can go sic Atticus on them.”

  She hesitated, unsure how to explain why she held back. Recklessly, she had jumped into the fire last night, with no real heed to the consequences. The time to put aside glass slippers and dreams of happily-ever-afters had now arrived. “Trev…I…Last night was…”

  “Raven!” It seemed her brothers’ last warning.

  “Oh, hell.” She tried to wriggle out from under Trev, but he leaned back on his haunches, lightly applying his weight on her thighs. The notion of bucking her hips to dislodge him passed through her brain, but then the pulsing thump of his erection bumped against her lower belly. It was never good to toss a lit match into petrol!

  He gave a sideways tilt of his head, saying it was her choice: she could kiss him, or they would sit here waiting for one of her brothers to pound on the door.

  She gave a sharp exhale. “Bloody arrogant man.”

  Trevelyn leaned forward, triumph flashing in his eyes. “Good morning, Raven.” He brushed his lips softly against hers.

  The contact caused hunger to roar to life, sending all the usual chemical changes to ravage her body. Her breasts tightened and her womb clenched into a hard fist. Blood swirled through her brain, setting her to burning. Ah, this could be damned addictive!

  Evidently, the raw power slammed through Trev, too, because he groaned and broke the kiss.

  “Raven! We need you!” Skylar called, ruining the moment.

  “Perhaps you had better go deal with your idiot, um, adorable brothers,” Trev suggested with teasing reluctance.

  Raven’s mind was fried. “Brothers?” She repeated the word as if the concept was foreign.

  Trev forced a painful grin, running his thumb pad across her lower lip. “Remember? Those junior car thieves with champagne taste?”

  She nodded, sliding out from under him. “Ah, brothers. Yes, good idea.”

  Rolling off the bed, she didn’t even pause to find where her shoes went. Opening the door, she turned back for one last look at the long-legged, sexy man on her bed, as comfortable naked as he was in the expensively tailored tux. “Mercy,” she muttered under her breath, and then went to confront her pesky siblings.

  Skylar scurried back down the steps and nonchalantly leaned against the newel post as she came outside. He gave her a sunny, innocent expression. “It’s not like you to sleep so late, sis. Usually you’re up at the crack of dawn, painting away. We hated to wake you, but need you to tell us where the damn box goes.”

  “Box?” she asked.

  “Your clockwork witch in a coffin.”

  The fleeting jest fell flat as the word coffin sent a cold shiver up her spine. Pushing aside the silly notion and rush of strange images suddenly crowding the edges of her mind, she looked to the front of the house. “Wasn’t the road mushy after the rain?”

  “We used Brishen’s horse cart and came the old way. Since no one drives on that part anymore, it was rather immune to last night’s deluge. The wagon is not out front, but at the entrance of the big greenhouse. Brishen figured it might be easier to bring it through from there,” he explained.

  When she entered the kitchen, Phelan was giving the cats fresh water. He glanced up and gave her a genuine smile. “Coffee’s on. Want some? I also fed and watered the kitty-babies. They were complaining. The bird is helping himself to their chow.”

  “Flippin’ bird thinks he’s a cat,” Skylar sniggered.

  “No coffee, thanks,” she answered, going to the refrigerator and taking out a chilled pitcher of lemonade. “Let me get a drink and then I’ll be with you.”

  “Thirsty, are you?” Skylar smirked.

  “Av akai! Av akai!“

  At the sound of Brishen shouting, Raven paused pouring the juice. Her friend came through the kitchen archway, hot on the trail of Marvin. She chuckled at the comic sight.

  “The pony doesn’t speak Gypsy, Brishen. He only knows you are yelling at him.”

  “I’ll give him something to run from,” Brishen threatened.

  Skylar stopped laughing and broke into a chorus of, “‘Pony boy, pony boy, won’t you be my pony boy…’”

  “I tell the blasted creature to come here. Does he listen? ‘Tis prikaza—very bad luck—to have a pony in the house, Raven,” the Romany warned.

  She chuckled and then took a sip of lemonade. “Don’t fuss at me. I didn’t let him inside.”

  Brishen paused from herding the little black horse out the back door, to take in her appearance: barefoot, mussed hair, whisker burns, dressed in nothing but the teal robe. He arched a black brow as he reached out and lifted the lapel of the silk wrapper. “A bit underdressed, aren’t we?” Playful admonishment was clear in his tone.

  Giving him a glare, she smacked his hand away.

  “Morning.”

  The single word was spoken from behind them, silencing all the chatter. Raven’s head snapped around to see Trevelyn stranding in the archway, dressed in his tuxedo slacks and shirt, with only half of the studs fastened. She blushed when she recalled why most of them were missing.

  Trev gave everyone an easy grin, and then came forward to lift the glass from Raven’s hand. Swallowing a big sip, he offered her a wink. “Thanks. I was thirsty.”

  “Funny, so were the cats,” Phelan commented.

  Skylar’s lavender eyes flashed with mischief. “Yes, seems to be going around this morning.”

  Forgetting about the pony on the porch, Brishen lifted his brows dramatically and looked to the twins. They mimicked him by raising their own in intrinsically male communication. Raven frowned, knowing where this was heading. Meddlesome Montgomeries plus one!

  Brishen stopped near Trevelyn and very deliberately looked him up and down. “A little overdressed, aren’t we?” he asked.

  Skylar nudged the Gypsy with his elbow. “Is this where we—in concerned brotherly fashion—drag him outside and beat the shite out of him?”

  “Not,” Trev chuckled good-naturedly, “if you hope to gad about in my car again.” He handed back Raven’s glass of lemonade.

  “Hmm.” Phelan pretended to seriously weigh his prospects. “Let’s see—a night on the town in a Lamborghini versus our sister’s honor. Tough decision. But then, Brishen really couldn’t pound on you after you paid a king’s ransom for his horse. Sorry, sis, you’re on your own.”

  “A night on the town each
,” Skylar amended, bouncing on his heels hopefully.

  Raven suppressed a giggle. Lamborghini mania knew no bounds. So much for brotherly love!

  Trev started to give a laugh, also, but caught a sneeze instead. Looking down, he frowned at Chester depositing reddish cat hair on the leg of his pants. He reached inside his tuxedo jacket and removed a silk handkerchief, ready for a second round, blinking sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, dear. Possible trouble in paradise. You’re allergic to cats?” Phelan questioned.

  Skylar said, “Deep trouble. Love my sister, love her pussy.” His twin delivered a sharp kick to his shinbone, and he added, “—uh, cats.”

  Trev suppressed a smile, searching his pocket for his keys. “It’s a mild reaction. A couple pills will handle it.” He was interrupted by the chirping of his cell phone in the pocket of his jacket. Flipping the device open he answered, “Trevelyn. Yes, Julian, I know. On my way now. Sorry, I was…detained.”

  Raven blushed as his eyes skimmed over her. Feeling the need to shoo the audience from the room, she reminded the others, “I believe you three came to deliver my Gypsy?”

  Skylar grabbed an oatmeal cookie from the cookie jar on the counter next to the refrigerator. “Lug that thing and forsake our proper duty as your brothers to grill your date on what his intentions are? How can you think we’d abandon you at a time like this?”

  “Sorry to miss the prospect of that fun, but I seriously have to run.” Trevelyn kissed Raven’s temple. “I truly have to dash. Call you later. Gentlemen, have care with the Gypsy in the box. I still intend to buy her.”

  “Dream on, Sinclair,” Raven replied.

  Atticus caught Trev on the right shin as he started to leave, giving him a strong peck with his beak. Trev grimaced and stopped. Reaching down, he grabbed the silly seagull’s beak in a small pinch. “You and me, bud. I’ll hop on one leg and we can duke it out.”

  Raven scooped up the puzzled gull. No one had dared discipline him before. “Trevelyn, stop threatening my poor bird!”

  Trev winked at her. “Yeah, sure—side with him. Later, Red.”

  After he’d gone, Raven stood wiggling her toes. She finally put down the crazy bird and tucked away her insecurities. His words hadn’t exactly sounded like a kiss-off. Later did hold the possibility of, well, later.

  The three remaining men stared at her, waiting for her to speak.

  “Now the floorshow is over, shall we get the fortuneteller inside?” she asked.

  The men grumbled, stole more cookies and headed toward the greenhouse.

  “Before we move the box off the cart, why don’t you decide where it’s going? That way we can shift it with purpose instead of dragging it around to suit your whim,” Phelan suggested.

  “I know precisely where she goes—in the corner where the direct sunlight never reaches. That way she’ll be the focal point of the bigger greenhouse but also protected. I wouldn’t want her costume or the velvet lining in the box to fade.” Trailing after Brishen and her brothers, Raven glanced out the greenhouse to see Trevelyn’s black car pull out of the drive and disappear down her little lane. “At least it didn’t turn into a pumpkin,” she muttered.

  Brishen gave her a soft smile, his vivid blue eyes speaking a concern he didn’t voice.

  She was glad her friend—perhaps best friend in the world—chose silence, because she really didn’t need to deal with him and his questions. She had plenty enough rattling around inside her head. The Gypsy just reached out and squeezed her arm.

  The twins had the moving straps and were lifting the six-foot-tall box from the back of Brishen’s old-fashioned wagon. Skylar flashed her friend a dirty scowl. “You could help them, you know.”

  Brishen laughed and turned up empty hands. “You only have two sets of straps.”

  As the twins shifted the large box with ease toward the right side of the long room, Raven instructed, “Turn her catty-corner. Careful.”

  Phelan rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am, anything you want, ma’am.”

  “Atticus!” Raven snatched up the idiotic creature, who was suddenly hopping toward Skylar, but not before the bird gave her brother a hard peck on the foot.

  Skylar glared at the creature. “Raven, that dumb seagull thinks he’s a woodpecker.”

  “He only pecks people he likes,” she explained with a shrug.

  “Well, I’d rather he’d like someone else.”

  Phelan set his end of the oak booth down and then rocked it into place. “This how you want it?” he asked.

  “Yes, perfect! I have this small window awning I found at an estate sale. I’m going to put it over the top with a small spotlight hidden underneath. That will finish the look.” Carefully depositing Atticus to the stone floor, Raven went to touch the magical booth.

  The oddest look crossed Brishen’s face as he studied the wooden Gypsy up close. “She reminds me of someone. I can almost place who.”

  “Here, sis.” Phelan nudged her and held out two coins. “You need to christen La Belle Fortune in her new home.”

  After pulling the two cards last night, Raven hesitated to try again. Silly. She wanted the automaton, so at some point she’d have to face asking for a fortune; might as well get it over with now. Accepting the coins, she inserted one, then a second, heard the clicks and then the turning of the gears. A card was ejected with a loud clack, then shortly another.

  She breathed an inner sigh of relief when the card she pulled was not The Lovers. It was The Moon, a card that signaled trickery and deception. She slowly turned it over to read the accompanying fortune. Trust the heart to know what it wants. A second card was the Ace of Cups in the reversed or upside-down position, often meaning a hesitancy to accept things from the heart. The words on the reverse read: Listen to the past—for there you shall find the answers to what you seek.

  Skylar shrugged. “At least there’s nothing about sheep or wolves.”

  “No need,” Brishen informed him. “The wolf already came. The Gypsy…she now shows our Raven the path to tame him.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Agnes Dodd looked up from the computer keyboard, glared, and then removed the half-glasses from the tip of her nose, allowing them to dangle at the end of the gold chain around her neck. The pinch of disapproval set her mouth, indicating to Trev that she was working up to her usual dry set-down. The best course of action when that look was on her face was to sidestep. Oh, she’d find a way to deliver her upbraid, but this made her work for it, was merely one move in their perverse game of cat and mouse. Only, as he flashed her his megawatt smile, he pondered who was really the cat and who was the mouse.

  He headed her off at the pass by asking, “Where’s Julian?”

  “Harrumph.” Her black eyes flashed, a glacial stare that had Mershan secretaries fainting in terror when Agnes was in residence at corporate headquarters. Playing the game, she ignored his question and picked up her steno pad and pencil. Any other secretary used one of a dozen gadgets that were really baby computers designed for the palm of her hand. Not Agnes. She disdainfully said newfangled things broke too easily. If her pencil point broke she could sharpen it and go back to work.

  “Funny.” Following him into the office, she finally deigned to reply. “That was the same thing I heard from Lord Starkadder when he came in before lunchtime. ‘Where’s Trevelyn?’” she mimicked Julian’s hint of an accent.

  The accent was just one of the mysteries about Julian Starkadder, who wasn’t really a lord as Agnes joked; it tended to shift slightly, making discernment of where he was from impossible. No one knew much about Julian’s past, and he clearly preferred it to remain that way.

  At times, Trevelyn resented Desmond’s closeness to the man. With so much weighing upon his shoulders, Des needed a confidant, a friend. In some ways, his bond with Julian ran deeper than blood ties. Des had been both a brother and a father to Jago and Trev both; thus he supposed it natural that Des was protective, shielding them from the dirti
er sides of big business. But Julian was privy to all of Desmond’s darker dealings.

  “So, where is Julian?”

  Agnes’s chest rose and fell with her dry, “Ha ha. That one only tells you what he wants you to know. Surely you’ve learnt that by now.”

  “Hmm. I wonder if I can enroll in his Handling Agnes 101 class.” Trev set his white bag on the desk and then went to pour a glass of ice water from the carafe on the sideboard. “So, other than Julian isn’t about, anything else I need to know?”

  Agnes wiggled her pencil back and forth, its eraser annoyingly tapping her pad about every third time. “Dr. Hackenbush—”

  “Hacksell,” he stressed.

  She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Whatever. I think a doctor should have more sense than to have ‘hack’ as part of his name. My opinion, but it just doesn’t instill trust. I mean, would you go to a dentist named Dr. Pain—?”

  “Agnes,” Trev growled in warning.

  “Very well. The receptionist for Dr. Hacksell called and asked if you were going to keep your appointment. Judging from your doggie bag, I see you have. Did you get a shot?” she asked, a smile lighting her face.

  “Sadistic woman, taking glee in my misery. Where did Des hire you from again? Nazis-R-Us?” He opened the bag and dumped its contents on the desktop.

  Agnes continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “The banking issue was handled on my way in. All this moving money from Mershan to Trident Ventures and then to Sinclair, Ltd., is a bloody headache. Aside from that…the decorator confirmed he’s coming in the morning to measure the office, though I have no idea what to tell him about that.” With a clear question in mind, she pointed her pencil toward the corner where the rocking horse sat before a huge window. “Not de rigueur for the perfect office image.”

  “It stays.”

  “Preparing for your second childhood, me boyo?” she kidded, smug. “You plan to inform Desmond how much you paid for that trinket?”

  Trev ruffled through several papers neatly stacked on the side of his desk, seeing nothing urgent. “Mark it down under expenses for the Montgomerie Enterprises takeover.”